08-01-2019, 02:10 AM
![](https://i.postimg.cc/VLWj8rrs/C1-B18583-F360-4-DA3-BDF2-B5-C5-E2-EB6-DDB.jpg")
I need you like a heart needs a beat
but it's nothing new.
Something in the way he says he had believed in soulmates, but never believed he had one, feels like someone twisted her heart brutally in their hands. She wishes that he could see himself, just for a moment, the way that she sees him. She wishes that he understood that if it hadn’t been her (she doesn’t even want to think about that, though, doesn’t ever want to imagine another dimension, another timeline, where it’s not her), he would have found someone else. His quiet strength and the kindness that lay trapped beneath the shadows would have lured someone else in, and just like her, they would have fought forever, if that’s what it took, to be able to be called his. They wouldn’t have ever wanted to imagine a day where those golden eyes are looking at someone else, they never would have wanted those lips memorizing the map of someone else’s body, and they never would have wanted to imagine that voice murmuring sweet nothings into the tangles of another's hair.
She knows, because he is hers, and she still thinks about these things all the time.
His body shifts closer to hers – which somehow seems impossible, since they are always melted into each other, a tangle of shadow and feral black – and she responds by resting her head against his neck. “My soul, my everything, is yours.” She hopes that when he feels her heart beating, that he knows it’s for him; that when it skips in her chest, or races with want and excitement, it is only for him, and could never possibly be for anyone else. She isn’t sure why she is suddenly afraid of him not knowing, of him not fully understanding all that he is, but nothing that she does or says ever feels like enough to her. “I know that you know. I know that you feel everything that I feel, and that neither of us ever has to wonder or worry, I just…” she trails off for a moment, her quiet brown eyes searching his golden ones, before she finally she says with a demure smile and another kiss against his jaw, “I just never get tired of telling you that I love you.”
She knows, because he is hers, and she still thinks about these things all the time.
His body shifts closer to hers – which somehow seems impossible, since they are always melted into each other, a tangle of shadow and feral black – and she responds by resting her head against his neck. “My soul, my everything, is yours.” She hopes that when he feels her heart beating, that he knows it’s for him; that when it skips in her chest, or races with want and excitement, it is only for him, and could never possibly be for anyone else. She isn’t sure why she is suddenly afraid of him not knowing, of him not fully understanding all that he is, but nothing that she does or says ever feels like enough to her. “I know that you know. I know that you feel everything that I feel, and that neither of us ever has to wonder or worry, I just…” she trails off for a moment, her quiet brown eyes searching his golden ones, before she finally she says with a demure smile and another kiss against his jaw, “I just never get tired of telling you that I love you.”
Briseis